Dreamers

A quintessential flower child,
Maureen strives for a good
reincarnation, if not to
jump off the wheel entirely,
she doesn't walk so much
as glide, wispy sarong
flutters, bright long
straight hair sways,
counterbalance to the hips.
Maureen maintains her
natural altitude, carries
inside whatever is vital,
her completeness a testament,
and for me a model, and my love.

We sense eternity, and galaxies and atoms,
led by the music, and the gurus, the books.

Her glide tells her story,
not quite earth-bound,
her eyes speak for her,
they welcome you on your
terms, as you see yourself,
she expects the same
from you, no need to judge.

There is trust, we are inalienable, we are good,
we sleep safely with strangers, what is there to fear?
"God is alive," Buffy chants, "magic is afoot."

We dreamed,
and we tried,
we followed,
we learned
this was The Way,
it led to another Way,
and another.
We'd talk deep
into night, in those
days when we felt
lit by spirit, stood
apart, found each
other, we had
to discover if we
could make it better.
All was possible.

Only an eighth-mile, the walk
from my board-and-batten cottage
to hers, but the full moon gave it
a chicken-skin mystery, rich
with ghosts of ancient warriors
and priests, they had something
for us, chanting in harmony,
in promenade down the small
valley between our houses to the
stone heiau on the beach, unseen
but heard, strong with promise.
We looked to the ancient ones,
to different times, they knew
the secrets, we had only
to open our selves.

We floated, we gazed, we dug deep, or so
we imagined. We were changing the world.

And when Lee Halsey came
to her one night, he was
seeing a different world,
there was only fracture,
pieces of him in a plaid shirt,
trying to fit, failing sadly,
his desperate exertion to be
part of our diaphanous world
so at odds with the consciously
effortless tenor of the times.
We took them all in,
even the sociopaths.

There was a place for them,
there had to be, there had to be.

How could I not have heard
you cry, it was a quiet night
as always, unless you didn't
make a sound, Maureen,
making sounds was not
how you made your mark,
your eyes announced
your knowing, and I
wonder still if you knew
what Lee Halsey wanted
and would do to get it,
knew what would happen
when you refused,
knew your blood would
pool like a halo
about your head.

"An ode to my Bath Tub"

Bathed in it's warm amniotic embrace
My mind floats away
I have traveled many a route and roamed on mountain heights
Mulled over the order of words in my poem until they are just right
Placed all my troubles into perspective
Decided I will take on that challenge

Like Archimedes
-inspired -
I have written my best code,
designed my best networks
and workarounds in my bath tub
All my best plans start here
It's a fountain of solutions
Warm bubbly ones at that

But before I go all wrinkly
(or shout "Eureka")

I will wallow here a while some more

Thanks bjbd - you're right, most of my stuff is autobiographical - it's what I know best, I guess...but look! I can rhyme! Rarely, but still...


a man is a verb
until he is not

compulsive and excitable
he seeks wretched excess,
will is far too malleable
takes shape as something less,
reality and caricature
make war on beingness,
he finds no respite and no cure
until he sinks to rest

We enjoy your poems any way you write them, William.
Here's one I wrote without rhyme.
(Might have posted it a while back.)

Orange and lemon set the mood.
The sun ablaze matched the warmth from within.
We played a game - we two - despite the need
Separating briefly now and then to show our independence
And once having parted, feeling a sad, lonely void.
How empty those moments beneath the facade
Waiting to meet again - by chance?
We were drawn together - you and I - the rest matters not.
Barefoot we walked, side by side - hand in hand
Laughing, honey-bronzed - strong and daring.
Like children in the sand, the world was our playground.
Your soft eyes read my innermost thoughts and understood.
Sensitivity the key-note - Carefree disconcern fooling
Those outside who could not look beyond.
Technicolor world turned black and white...
It was the end of rainbows and return to reality.

Karuta

I learn something new every day Good karuta players memorize all 100
tanka poems and the layout of the cards at the start of the match.
The layout of the cards changes during the duration of the match.
Since I don't play this game, thought you might like to read some short
Japanese poetry instead.


HOKKU

I

Bits of song - what else?
I, a rider of the stream,
Lone between the clouds.

II

Full of faults, you say.
What beauty in repentance!
Tears, songs-thus life flows.

III

But the march to life -
Break song to sing the new song!
Clouds leap, flowers bloom.

IV

Song of sea in rain,
Voice of the sky, earth and men!
List, song of my heart.

-Yone Noguchi


TANKA

I

A frail hepatica
Shyly holds its fragrance
Beneath the fresh morning dew.
So, Elizabeth.

II

The air is still
And grasses are wet;
Thread-like rain
Screens the dunes.

III

The storm has passed,
The sky washed clear.
Rain-drops on twigs
Reflect the moon.

IV

A sloping sand plain
Fades into pale night air;
A black tree skeleton
Casts no shadow.

V

The brook has gone,
Left the lifeless bed behind;
A lovely bird
Seeks the water in vain.

VI

On a country road
An Old woman walks;
The autumn sun
Casts her shadow long and thin.

VII
Across the frozen marsh
The last bird has flown;
Save a few reeds
Nothing moves.

VIII

Graves are frozen.
A few leaves
Stood, danced
And have gone.

-Jun Fujita